MrsSpringsteen
Blue Crack Addict
So what do you think, could this be the ultimate way to preserve the sanctity of marriage? 
Often it might be too much proximity that causes people to get on each others nerves, focus on that and on other irritations, and take each other for granted. In my opinion private time is very important in a relationship/marriage. Like he says though, they probably do ultimately spend more time together than most spouses do. Obviously this guy is talking about living in the same building, on the same floor-not in different cities or states. I have read more than just this article about this topic, maybe it will be a new social movement.
By Dan Sarluca
Special to Newsweek
June 22, 2006 - When I tell people that my wife and I each have separate apartments yet are happily married, I usually get a strange look. I used to rush to explain that ours wasn’t some weird marriage of convenience cobbled together for appearances, like certain celebrity couples are rumored to have done to advance their careers. Now I don’t bother. Our apartments are both in the same Brooklyn building, on the same floor, two doors down from one another, and we probably spend more time together than most spouses.
After Lauren and I had been together for a year, a unit became available in her building, and we talked about my renting it. We had both lived alone for so many years we were wary that full cohabitation might put too great a strain upon our relationship. Two nearby apartments seemed the perfect solution—not quite living together but something far more committed than weekend slumber parties at my place. We agreed that we would spend the bulk of our time together in my apartment and periodically retreat to our own flats for some privacy.
I could only visit her apartment for brief spells anyway. I’m allergic to cats and the Giant—her 20 pound ball of fur, fangs and claws—was mean to boot. She’s left her mark on many a foolhardy veterinarian who ignored Lauren’s warnings.
Just in terms of square footage, my apartment is large enough for two people to live in, but it’s an open, loft-style space. The only other separate room is the bathroom, and although we love each other very much we both agreed that the odd 10 minutes or so of reading the paper on the toilet didn’t constitute enough private time for either one of us.
Plus there’s the matter of household neatness. I’ve been known to burst into a cleaning frenzy if yesterday’s newspaper is left spread across the coffee table. Her apartment is littered with two-year-old phone bills. If the yogurt in my refrigerator is a couple of days past its expiration date, it goes straight into the trash. Her freezer still houses the complimentary ham the grocery store gave her for Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving 2003.
People sometimes ask, “How can you afford two places?” I point out that it wasn’t a problem when we were first dating and the rents in our part of Brooklyn haven’t changed much. Besides, my wife’s rent is still very cheap; she’s been living in the building for years, dating back to when it was first converted from a dress factory to residences and lacked the luxuries it has today, like mail delivery on Saturdays and a Certificate of Occupancy.
Over time, I’ve come to realize that the strange looks I used to mistake for disapproval are often those of envy. Most people, especially married women, are fascinated by our arrangement. They seek us out at social gatherings to press for details. “You mean your wife has an entire bathroom to herself?” a woman asked me once with a passionate longing in her eyes.
To Lauren: “Let me get this straight. If he’s in a bad mood and you don’t want to deal with him, you can just go down the hall and neither one of you takes it personally?”
One night while hanging out in a bar with a group of fellow middle-aged men, we listened to a 6-foot-2 electrician named Mike complain about the emotional ups and downs of what he called his wife’s “mental pause.” My friend Dan explained to him the living arrangement Lauren and I had. Mike turned to me, awed. “You’re my hero,” he said. I was afraid he was going to hug me.
It’s been several years now since I moved into the building, and the neighbors have become accustomed to seeing Lauren shuffle back and forth between our two places in her bathrobe and fuzzy slippers. Aside from putting up with the occasional snide remark about having a cat with its own one-bedroom flat, our separate apartments continue to work out nicely.
Instead of becoming the social pariahs I feared, I suspect Lauren and I may in fact be the vanguard of a new social movement and one day our arrangement will be considered unremarkable. It wasn’t so long ago that an unmarried man and woman living together in the same apartment was a social scandal; why should a married couple living in two apartments rate a second thought? After all, when Lauren and I got married we promised to share our life and our love. We never said anything about sharing our bathrooms.
Often it might be too much proximity that causes people to get on each others nerves, focus on that and on other irritations, and take each other for granted. In my opinion private time is very important in a relationship/marriage. Like he says though, they probably do ultimately spend more time together than most spouses do. Obviously this guy is talking about living in the same building, on the same floor-not in different cities or states. I have read more than just this article about this topic, maybe it will be a new social movement. By Dan Sarluca
Special to Newsweek
June 22, 2006 - When I tell people that my wife and I each have separate apartments yet are happily married, I usually get a strange look. I used to rush to explain that ours wasn’t some weird marriage of convenience cobbled together for appearances, like certain celebrity couples are rumored to have done to advance their careers. Now I don’t bother. Our apartments are both in the same Brooklyn building, on the same floor, two doors down from one another, and we probably spend more time together than most spouses.
After Lauren and I had been together for a year, a unit became available in her building, and we talked about my renting it. We had both lived alone for so many years we were wary that full cohabitation might put too great a strain upon our relationship. Two nearby apartments seemed the perfect solution—not quite living together but something far more committed than weekend slumber parties at my place. We agreed that we would spend the bulk of our time together in my apartment and periodically retreat to our own flats for some privacy.
I could only visit her apartment for brief spells anyway. I’m allergic to cats and the Giant—her 20 pound ball of fur, fangs and claws—was mean to boot. She’s left her mark on many a foolhardy veterinarian who ignored Lauren’s warnings.
Just in terms of square footage, my apartment is large enough for two people to live in, but it’s an open, loft-style space. The only other separate room is the bathroom, and although we love each other very much we both agreed that the odd 10 minutes or so of reading the paper on the toilet didn’t constitute enough private time for either one of us.
Plus there’s the matter of household neatness. I’ve been known to burst into a cleaning frenzy if yesterday’s newspaper is left spread across the coffee table. Her apartment is littered with two-year-old phone bills. If the yogurt in my refrigerator is a couple of days past its expiration date, it goes straight into the trash. Her freezer still houses the complimentary ham the grocery store gave her for Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving 2003.
People sometimes ask, “How can you afford two places?” I point out that it wasn’t a problem when we were first dating and the rents in our part of Brooklyn haven’t changed much. Besides, my wife’s rent is still very cheap; she’s been living in the building for years, dating back to when it was first converted from a dress factory to residences and lacked the luxuries it has today, like mail delivery on Saturdays and a Certificate of Occupancy.
Over time, I’ve come to realize that the strange looks I used to mistake for disapproval are often those of envy. Most people, especially married women, are fascinated by our arrangement. They seek us out at social gatherings to press for details. “You mean your wife has an entire bathroom to herself?” a woman asked me once with a passionate longing in her eyes.
To Lauren: “Let me get this straight. If he’s in a bad mood and you don’t want to deal with him, you can just go down the hall and neither one of you takes it personally?”
One night while hanging out in a bar with a group of fellow middle-aged men, we listened to a 6-foot-2 electrician named Mike complain about the emotional ups and downs of what he called his wife’s “mental pause.” My friend Dan explained to him the living arrangement Lauren and I had. Mike turned to me, awed. “You’re my hero,” he said. I was afraid he was going to hug me.
It’s been several years now since I moved into the building, and the neighbors have become accustomed to seeing Lauren shuffle back and forth between our two places in her bathrobe and fuzzy slippers. Aside from putting up with the occasional snide remark about having a cat with its own one-bedroom flat, our separate apartments continue to work out nicely.
Instead of becoming the social pariahs I feared, I suspect Lauren and I may in fact be the vanguard of a new social movement and one day our arrangement will be considered unremarkable. It wasn’t so long ago that an unmarried man and woman living together in the same apartment was a social scandal; why should a married couple living in two apartments rate a second thought? After all, when Lauren and I got married we promised to share our life and our love. We never said anything about sharing our bathrooms.
. You're probably the only person who will reply to it anyway 
I hope this is true because I do love your threads. They're refreshingly different. Plus you allow Dread to bring up boosies. 
